Accept me for who I am

A panicked scream filled the air as Yvon tripped over her own skates for the umpteenth time that afternoon. But the scream was soon replaced with laughter by a boy as he skated to a halt beside Yvon who was tending to the newest addition to her collection of bruises.

“Hey, here.” He offered to help her get back on her feet but she refused.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.” Yvon was sulking.

Rick sat down beside her. “So what do you wanna do instead?”

“Let’s just sit here and enjoy the view.” She grabbed his arm and pointed at the sunset. “Look how pretty the sunset is when it goes into the ocean.”

“Not as pretty as my sunset when it goes into your ocean.” Rick realized it right after he said it. That was not something appropriate to say on a first date.

The perfect first date should be skating followed by some ice cream then, if he’s lucky, maybe a kiss. But Rick had just given up all hope of that last item on his itinerary.

“What did you just say?”

Rick winced. He was hoping that she may not have heard it. No such luck.

“Yvon, I- I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said pervy stuff like that. Uh, I didn’t mean it. I’m really sorry…”

He fumbled around for the words to make this awkward situation less awkward. Again, no such luck.

“Rick, if you’re gonna yap away like that, you’re not even gonna get a shot at seeing your sunset entering my ocean.”

“I- what?”

“I like pervy stuff.” Yvon was admiring the sunset with a flawless smile on her face, looking every bit like the perfect girl- except for what she just said.

“You do?”

Yvon nodded and looked at Rick in the eye. “I’m actually glad and relieved that you brought that topic up on our first date. I would never know how to break it to you otherwise. It’s a part of me and I know it’s a part of you too. And I accept you for who you are. I don’t find you weird or anything.”

Rick was grinning from ear to ear. He really struck the jackpot this time. This girl is a keeper.

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Accept me for who I am

When Death Walked In

The door swings open. It’s a bald, gleaming, shiny head. The bald, gleaming, shiny head. The stench in the air is palpable. It is the stench of fear, and it was an all-you-can-eat-buffet for the nose which belonged to the bald head.
“What are you idiots waiting for? Go greet the food auditor!” The supervisor reprimanded his staff in a hushed whisper.
The staff proceeded to welcome the Grim Reaper wearing a bald-man-suit as a practised choir. Grim Reaper paid no attention, instead stalked straight for the kitchen.

The supervisor trodded behind him, not unlike a freshly nagged kid. Then Death spoke, “If I can taste a trace of food on whatever that used to contain, I’m suspending your license.” He stared pointedly at a container.

The unorthodox test caused the supervisor to take a moment to process what Death uttered. When at last he understood, he began to word his confused disbelief, “You can’t be serious…” But the container was already cradled by Death’s spiny spiderweb-y fingers, and it appeared to corrupt at his very touch. Death opened his mouth, and a tendril slithered out. The air stilled in that room, and a morgue may arguably be a more lively place than that kitchen at that precise moment.

Death’s tendril traced a slimy path on the container’s inner wall and withdrew.

“I can taste it…”

The supervisor and his staff visibly stiffened. Teeth were gritted, veins throbbed, breaths were held and five pairs of eyes widened.

“I can taste your license renewal.”

And nobody imagined that even Death was capable of a warm smile.

When Death Walked In

The Little People

(C) Alastair Forbes. Sunday Photo Fiction, May 24th, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by, Alastair Forbes
– A pair of anchors. (C) Alastair Forbes. Sunday Photo Fiction, May 24th, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by, Alastair Forbes

Alex and Gilberto were neighbours, but they did not know that.

Alex lived in a bungalow in a rich estate, while Gilberto lived in his garden. Gilberto belonged to the Little People, and he lived in a Little Town in Alex’s garden. The Little People were a happy bunch of people. But Gilberto was an exception. He was a painter, and Alex’s garden was a graveyard of inspiration. 

Then Alex’s birthday came, and his parents gifted him with a realistic toy battleship. Alex took it out to the garden to play. But as he swung the SS Catastrophe around, navigating through a barrage of cannon shells, the anchor flew off. Try as he might, Alex could not find it. He felt sorrowful for losing it on the first day he received it. But Gilberto was overjoyed: the anchor made for a perfect centerpiece for landscape art, among the other LEGO houses that Alex generously ‘donated’ over the past few years.

Word count: 160

The Little People

Diving Deep

(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 18, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.
(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 18, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.

“The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.”

The crew consisted of Soul, Fury, Zest and Captain.

They were a group of very able engineers, and the Navy tasked them to design and build a new submarine for marine research purposes.

Angel Flame was thus born, and it was her first test run.

“Seal the hatch!” Captain ordered.

“Aye aye, Captain!” Fury replied, then later whispered to Zest, “You have no idea how long I waited to say that.” Zest chuckled heartily.

Once the hatch was closed, Soul lowered the submarine into the depths.

“50 metres… a hundred…. hundred-fifty…” Zest spoke aloud as he monitored the depth meter.

“Once we hit four hundred, we should start moving around.” Captain instructed. “Zest, take the wheel!”

That was when Zest realized, he forgot the most vital mechanism of their assembly.

Word count: 130

Diving Deep

A Duck-watching Day

(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 12, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy.
(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 12, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy.

“One foot… then the other foot… then the other- OH CRAP!” The duck tumbled over sidewards.

“[Insert string of swear words of choice here]” The duck was unabashed at exhibiting her extensive esotericism of expletives.

“Woah girl! You kiss your mom with that mouth?” A fellow duck waddled over.

“That does not make any sense at all.” The lopsided duck fixed a stare at the other duck that shocked me (the author) because I thought ducks can’t show expression. I was proven very wrong. This duck epitomised the phrase: ‘If looks could kill.’

The other duck flippantly disregarded the look it received. “Are you going to get up?”

“I’m trying but I can’t.”

“…”

“Are you going to help me?”

“…”

The lopsided duck let out an enormous sigh. “Oh dear Caleb the wonderful, brilliant and greatest duck in the human and spiritual planes, won’t you please help me up?” If ducks have eyelids, this one batted them enthusiastically as if her life depended on it.

Caleb obliged, and while he helped to upright his friend, I thought to myself, if ducks could grin and look smug, Caleb was the most self-satisfied duck I’ve ever seen.


Moral of the story: Projecting human traits onto ducks is a ton of fun.

Word count: 196

A Duck-watching Day

Caleb the Crab

(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 11, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.
(C) Barbara W. Beacham. Mondays Finish the Story, May 11, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Barbara W. Beacham.

Arriving at the beach, she reflected on her life

or her lack thereof. She was sitting on the shore, where the water ebbed and flowed right through her translucent feet.

“I wish I had someone to show me how to be a proper ghost.” She sighed loudly.

“I can help you!” Annabelle heard a jolly, nasal voice come from behind her.

She drifted up and turned to face her back. But there was nobody there.

“Hee hee hee hee!!” The voice erupted with manic cackling.

Then a spot in the sand began to crumble, revealing a small, round hole. Annabelle peered into it, and something within peered back with glossy eyes.

It was a crab! It crawled out into the open and swung its claws outward, as if welcoming Annabelle with a hug. “I’m Caleb!”

“A talking crab?” Annabelle knitted her brows in confusion.

Then a wisp drifted out of the crab, which then scuttled away.

The vapor materialised into a tall and lanky teenage boy. He was all cheeky smiles as he floated into a comfortable ‘Jack-paint-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls’ position from the Titanic, hovering in midair.

“No, silly, I’m a ghost, just like you. And I can show you how to be a proper ghost!”

Word count: 195

Caleb the Crab

Manufactured in Atlantis

(C) Ady. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 5, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy
(C) Ady. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 5, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy

There was nothing but ocean as far as the eye can see. Stomachs were beginning to rumble.

Meanwhile, several miles below the sea, a great king with a great beard was having a feast. Then a guard ran in, announcing, “Sir, there are four humans above us.”

The great king, with trident in hand, stood up. “Who are they?” He demanded to know.

“They seem shipwrecked, sir. They’re in a tiny rowboat.”

“Let’s show them a good time, shall we?” A cheeky grin spread across the great king’s face.

~

Later that night, four humans found themselves on the shoreside but they had the wildest dreams about talking fishes and partying with dolphins, as well as a seaweed crown adorning their heads. As they examined it, they discovered a label. It said: “Made in Atlantis.”


Word count: 155

Manufactured in Atlantis